


I Got Low

by ereshai



Series: Various Prompt Fills [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a comment_fic prompt: <a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/542976.html?thread=77096960#t77096960">Bruce Banner, when the Other Guy spat out the bullet</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Got Low

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the kind of fic I usually write, but here it is anyway.

It took a long time to get used to the gun. Every time Bruce held it in his hand, the unfamiliar weight of it - it wasn't that heavy, really, but its potential for violence weighed on his mind – caused a deep uneasiness that caught the Other Guy’s attention. He had never liked guns, and he found it ironic that he had to turn to something only useful for death and destruction in order to prevent even more of the same.

Even so, sometimes only the knowledge that he had a way out kept him going. When it got to be too much – sometimes he thought it was already too much – he could end…everything. But first he had to stop being scared of the damn gun. As long as the Other Guy was unaware, it would all be over before he knew what was happening.

Bruce started taking the gun out at odd times; whenever he had a moment alone, during his meals, if he woke up in the middle of the night. He’d tell himself it was no big deal, just another tool. He used tools that could hurt all the time – needles, scalpels, even some medicines – and the pain they caused led to things getting better. The gun was no different.

One night, as he lay in his sleeping bag, he held the gun on his chest and thought of Betty. That always helped him to fall asleep, and it seemed to keep the Other Guy calm, too. He picked up the gun, cocked it, and waited for the usual stirring of apprehension. Nothing. He uncocked the gun, and slept better than he had for a long time; his exit plan would work when he needed it.

He didn't carry the gun with him during the day; guns inspired fear and violence, and most of the locals knew he would willingly give them anything they would be tempted to steal. The two young men – boys, really – in front of them didn't know that, though, and he concentrated on remaining calm as one of them pointed a gun at him while the other searched his pockets. They already had his medical bag. He was tempted, for about a second, to fight back and let them shoot him, but he couldn't do that to them. They shouldn't have to live with his murder just because he had a death wish. There was no guarantee he would be killed anyway, and he didn't want the Other Guy to make an appearance for something as minor as theft. He could replace whatever they took, eventually.

The two boys ran away, and he made his way back to his rented hovel. Nobody really owned it, but he paid the nearest neighbors for its use, and he was left alone. During his small evening meal, he heard a scuffling noise outside his door, and he went to check it out. His medical bag was sitting on the ground, and there was no one in sight. He took it inside and checked it; almost everything was there, and nothing was broken. That was nice; probably the nicest thing that had happened to him in a long time.

He finished eating and read by lantern light for a while before preparing for bed. The gun was still in its hiding place; he always worried someone would come in and find it while he was gone during the day. With its oddly comforting weight on his chest, he closed his eyes and thought of Betty. Almost unconsciously, he picked up the gun, put the barrel in his mouth, and squeezed the trigger.

The Other Guy roared to life, and Bruce’s last thought before he was pushed aside in his own body was _I’ll never be free_.


End file.
